Black Polished Chrome
by boot-stealer
Summary: Jack forces anti-social Will into London club scene for one night. What could possibly happen? AU Modern Willabeth.
1. Interlude

**Black Polished Chrome**

**Author: boot-stealer**

**Summary: **Jack takes Will out clubbing in London. Will's night is turned upside down by substances, and righted again by the company of a woman. AU Modern Willabeth

**Disclaimer: **By my knowledge, none of the clubs actually exist in London. I do not own Jack, Will, or Elizabeth, but I do own this plot and I own any new characters that may grace the story.

* * *

The place was nearly pitch black except for the blinking multicolored lights, flashing ridiculously, the strobe light spinning ridiculously, the music blasting…ridiculously. Hundreds of bodies gyrated and slimily grinded against each other, the musky smell of other peoples' breath invaded the air, or what was left of it that wasn't carbon dioxide. 

"Jack, do we _have_ to be here right now?" Will Turner yelled over the booming techno. He bumped into a large, beefy guy and apologized, seeing the man begin to turn, his hand in a fist.

"What?!" Jack Sparrow yelled, still moving through the throngs of people.

"What are we doing here?!" Will yelled back.

Jack grabbed his arm and pulled him into a slightly less loud area where they found one couple making out, another couple on the couch in the corner actually consummating whatever relationship they may have had.

Will felt incredibly uncomfortable and apologized to the couple. Their lack of attention to his apology made the young man feel there was really no need for him to lower his voice or leave the room.

"Jack, can we please get out of here?"

"Why?!" He stared at the couple on the couch, his jaw wide open, his eyes wide.

"Jack, don't be disgusting!"

"Listen, these two prob'ly met tonight and look at 'em go! I want that! This is where I can get it. C'mon, Will…what 'ave you got to lose?!" Jack finally diverted his attention and looked to his best mate. "Come ooon."

"Jack, I don't do this one night stand, sex with someone on a random, gross couch in some room in a techno club thing. I just don't."

"Yeh should try it. Just watch, I'll get ya a nice, sexy girl. And then you'll want to come back tomorrow and the next day. And because you liked it SO damn much, you'll want to come the day after that."

"Oh, c'mon, Jack. This really isn't my thing," Will argued. "I'm not like these guys."

The man making out with his girlfriend in the corner sent him a glare, to which Will responded, with wide eyes, "Hey, mate, I'm not judging you at all." The man went back to his lady friend.

The woman on the couch began making loud, slightly obscene noises, causing Jack to stare again.

"Jesus, Jack…you're sick."

"Wot?!" He asked defensively. "Will, answer me this." He pointed into Will's chest. "Are you a man or not?"

"Oh shut the hell up, Jack. Of _course_ I'm a man!"

"How _much_ of a man, my friend? Because what kind of man doesn't like having sex?" Jack stretched his arms to the side and shrugged. "C'mon mate. Really."

"I'm just not the type of guy that believes in dancing that consists of having sex with a woman with my clothes on. That's all I'm saying, mate. I don't judge you, you don't judge me. C'mon." Will turned to leave, but Jack grabbed his shirt and pulled him back.

"Will, just indulge me this one night. Get roaring drunk and screw some bird. Please."

"Look, I'll indulge you in staying here. And I'll dance. But this whole screwing a bird and getting drunk thing…no." He turned and left the room, entering into the loud atmosphere of the club.

A techno loop of Marilyn Manson's music reverberated through Will's brain, shooting through him and making him almost nauseas. He watched the sweaty mounds of people, moving together like amoebas or maggots, wriggling and vibrating. They were like emotionless zombies.

He stumbled over to the bar and wedged himself in. "Club soda!" He yelled.

The bartender completely ignored him and made the hard drinks for everyone else. Will just stared glumly. "Yeah, thanks!" He yelled, shoving his way from the bar and finding a corner where he wouldn't get other peoples' alcohol-smelling sweat all over him.

Jack stumbled towards Will with a small-looking girl in his arms. "Ey, mate! This is—wait, wot's yer name?"

"Leila!" She yelled in her small voice.

"This is Leila, Will! Are yeh interested?" The girl smiled drunkenly at Will. He smiled but then glared at his friend.

"No, Jack!"

The girl was put off for a moment, but grinned up at Jack as soon as he said "Fine, I'll have her. Hello, Leila."

"Hello, Jim."

"Jack."

"Whatever."

Jack started walking towards the door of the club. Raising an eyebrow, Will tore after his friend and grabbed him by his black sleeve. "Where the hell you going, Jack?!"

"I'm tired of this place. C'mon, we'll go somewhere with better drinks and less people." He turned and walked with his arm around Leila out into the cool London night air. Will followed him with relief.

A layer of smoke floated above the people on the dance floor. The band on the stage seemed near death, they were so thin. The eyes of the dancers were either closed or glazed over. If the last group was zombies, what was this??

Will turned to look at Jack and saw that Leila was nowhere to be seen. Jack stared strangely at the people bobbing up and down to the reggae sound of the band. Will poked Jack's shoulder. "Jack, where's your friend, Leila?"

"Who?"

"Leila."

He glanced to his side. "Shit. I dunno. Whatever. More where that came from. Let's go a street over and see wot's there."

"Jack, really, another one?"

"Let's go, damn it!"

* * *

"Can we _please_ go, Will?"

Jack stood behind his friend, his eyes void of any emotion, his cheeks sunken in annoyance and his jaw clenched. "Please, Will."

Will was jumping on each foot, his eyes shut, his arms pumping into the air, screaming the lyrics to the song. "_Yeah you! Shook me alllll niiiight long!_"

"Will! Fuck, mate! Let's go!"

He grabbed Will's sleeve and pulled him past the long-haired, jean vest wearing rockers. Will looked at him, confused. "What's wrong with this place?"

Jack succeeded in pulling his younger friend out onto the sidewalk. "Will…what kind of girls are you gunna get in there, idjit?"

"First of all, don't call me that. Secondly, what do you mean 'what kind of girls'? I love AC/DC, girls or no girls. Man, they were rocking! Did you see that guy head bang—"

"You disappoint me."

Will glared.

"Don' glare at me! I'm tryin' to get you out fer fun an' you hop up an' down like a git to some hair band from the 80s. Really, Will. The only thing they 'ad wos beer. And girls tha' looked like they hadn't showered in years."

"So what? The music was awesome."

"You've got lots to learn, Skywalker." He grabbed Will's arm and pulled him along again.

"Well, shit, _you_ brought me here, Yoda!"

* * *

"Fuck yes! This is it!"

Will looked up at the sign. _The Black Pearl_. That was promising.

_Shit._

It was one door. And the moment it opened, a large-breasted woman wearing an obscenely low-cut bright red blouse stumbled out drunkenly with a bearded man who was just as drunk if not more so. Music exploded loudly into the rowdy night air, immediately ceasing to just a dull thump as the door snapped shut again, almost like a suction cup.

"God…" Jack murmured, staring at the door with just as much awe as Will stared with absolute horror.

"You're not bringing me in there."

"I'm bringing you in there."

"No!"

"Don't be such a bitch! How old are you, man?! Stop being a little girl and suck it up. Yer damn well screwing a bird and ye'll do it in there!" Jack quickly whacked Will in his privates and walked ahead, leaving his younger friend with a wholly violated look on his face.

"Those are not yours!" Will barked as he followed Jack into the bar, the music almost blasting him backwards, it was so over-powering.

"Not yours either!" Jack yelled back to Will, who resisted boxing his friend in the ear.

Immediately, a woman who looked closer to thirty nine burst in front of his vision. "Buy me a drink, sexy!"

"I've got syphilis." She was gone in a flash. He chuckled to himself. Maybe next time he would try genital warts. Haha, this was funny.

Jack was already downing an Irish car bomb, the men behind him chanting loudly. Oddly enough, they all had scruffy beards. One of them even had an eye patch. And Jack made fun of _him_?! At least the blokes in the other club had both their eyes.

"I'll have a Club Soda!" Will roared over the masses of kissing, yelling, singing, and roaring people, young and old, that surrounded him.

A dirty mug was slammed down in front of him half full of Club Soda. The bartender was immediately gone. _Should I be paying for this?_ He looked around. "Fuck it," he muttered, moving away from the bar and running into a breezy Jack Sparrow.

"Oh, thanks mate!" He grabbed the mug and took a huge amount of the Club Soda into his mouth. His eyes widened and his cheeks bulged. Club Soda soon wet the right shoulder of Will's newly pressed shirt.

"Oh, good. Thank you, Jack," Will replied calmly.

"What the _fuck_ is this?!" Jack asked, looking almost betrayed.

"Club Soda."

"Who _drinks_ this?! Yer such a girl!"

"If I'm such a girl, will you please let me go home? Please?"

"No. You _are_ a girl, but you'll be a partying girl tonight." Jack grinned maliciously and jumped into the throngs of dancers, grabbing whichever girl he could find first and dancing very close to her. He motioned Will to come out.

Rolling his eyes, Will maneuvered his way in and found two girl at one time trying to straddle his legs. "Jesus!" He yelled, diving out of the dancers again, feeling almost as violated as he had when Jack smacked his privates.

Jack joined him a moment later. "Shit, Will! You got two at one time! You've got great sell ability!"

"They're like animals!"

It was an hour later of Jack dancing his Irish Car Bomb off, making out with girls, and Will trying to hide in the corner. He had tried to go to the bathroom, but found it smelled as if a large ape ate fifty rotten eggs and pooped, only to be followed by a skunk pattering in to spray the pile of crap. He almost vomited.

Will finally asserted himself and marched into the people gyrating. He grabbed Jack by the back of his collar and tugged him into a clear space. "We're going. I have spent too long in these places. I am sick of this loud, scary shit. You are going to take me someplace quiet, where I can get a drink that I can lift without people yelling chug at me!! Got it?!"

"Aye! Aye, mate! Let go o' me collar!" Will let go of the collar roughly, making Jack sock him in the shoulder. "Damn it, this is new! Stupid git!"

"Well?! Where are you taking me?"

Jack thought a drunken moment. A sly grin leaked onto his already sketchy features. "I know jus' th'place for yer lame arse."

* * *

"Will, this is where all your Technicolor dreams come true. Your psych is obliterated. Girls are no longer just girls. They're enigmas. The whole world is your enigma. This one night, you can be whatever you want, wherever you want. What do you say?" Jack grinned widely in what Will knew Jack thought was an endearing fashion.

"I say sign me up, Bead Man." Will looked passed Jack to see a man with a Beatles haircut, in an all-black skin tight suit, a joint hanging from his lips. The man grinned slyly, his hands in his pocket, his eyes seen through small purple lens sunglasses.

Jack turned, fingering the string of beads he had woven into his long, black hair. "Shut the fuck up with your purple sunglasses."

"Whoa, man." The guy chuckled and walked away. Will just laughed.

"Christ, Jack. You're a prick. He was just being…a stoner."

"I don' give a shit. He made fun o' me beads. Me mum made these."

"No she didn't."

"Shut up, they're sentimental."

The soft chords of a keyboard sounded behind Will. His brow furrowed as he turned and peered in the corner behind him. A speaker was hidden beneath a black and white striped piece of cloth. Turning, Will meant to ask his friend why the speaker had a weird piece of cloth on it, but found he was gone. He recognized this music.

The guitar riffs sounded, the soft keyboard molding with the solos of the guitar. Jim Morrison's deep voice resonated into his senses. _Let me sleep all night in your…soul kitchen._

There was a burnt smell in the air, almost like incense. He could almost see it, wafting about his head, tingling in his fingers in time with the keyboard.

Will shook his head and blinked a few times. _'Cause it's too late. Too late. Too late. Too late. And we're on our way. Now we can't come back._

A man in brown slacks tumbled passed him, his arm around a dangerously thin woman who laughed slowly, low in her throat, her dark charcoal make up smeared around her eyes, as if she'd just had a good cry.

The music slowed, almost like a psychedelic lullaby. Why is this place playing the Doors? Christ, I'm tired.

"So what's the point, man?"

Will spun and saw the same man from before, Purple Sunglasses Guy. _Take it easy baby. Don't move it too fast._

"What's that?" He asked the weird guy.

"I asked what's the point? Why you here?"

"Don't know."

"Look around, man. _Nobody_ knows. But we're here. _You're_ here, man. You're in _life_, man. So live it, right?" He pointed his finger at Will with the joint hanging from his other fingers. "Live it."

"…'Kay, thanks." Will pushed passed him and entered a large room. It was strangely smoky, an almost purple smoke sitting still in the air, as if not an occupant in the room was breathing.

A large target was painted on one wall. There were three rings in the target, the inner circle was red, surrounded by a white ring, which was surrounded by a blue one. A young woman with cat-like eyes posed in front of it, her sleeveless, clinging dress stopping at mid thigh, it's black and white polka dots making her stand out in a strange way against the background.

A man knelt in front of her, snapping pictures with an old fashioned camera. His beret was moved aside so that he could see, revealing shaggy brown hair. A string of similarly dressed, thin young women stood behind him, playing with their hair, or smacking on their gum.

_What the hell is this?_ Will thought to himself, watching as some people in the corner swayed slowly to the music, the slow sway of the blues-like rhythm matching their movement. Their noses touched just barely. Their hands were raised as if they were going to weave them together, but they didn't even touch. They were raised strangely in the air, no connection, and yet they moved as one.

One of the thin girls peered over at Will, gave him a small smile, then looked back at the corner blankly. He raised an eyebrow and weaved through the bobbing, swaying dancers. He watched them, them with their feet planted against the wood floors, their knees bobbing, their fists swinging like a pendulum before them, their necks twisting about on their thin wooden shoulders.

Again, he broke into a different room.

A cloud of blue smoke billowed into the air from a particular area in the corner of the room. He walked towards it, then stopped when he saw Jack behind it. "Will!" Jack shot up and handed him a small joint. "Man, you should take this."

"What, does pot suddenly make everyone say 'man' repeatedly?" Will asked, mindlessly bringing it to his mouth. He stopped, actually looking down before he set it to his lips. "Jack…this isn't what I think it is, is it?"

"Yeah, mate. Hit it."

"No!"

"Just do it!" The man in white ruffles said. "Can't hurt you."

Will tried to hand it back to Jack, but the shorter man pushed it back. "Nah, nah. Will, trust me. I wouldn't do anythin' wrong by you, mate, right?" Jack's face was close to his, his eyes begging Will not to embarrass him. Will sighed, looking at the burning joint in his hand.

"C'mon man! You're wasting it!"

Will put it to his lips and breathed it in. He could feel it slither down his throat and disappear for a moment, before erupting back out of his lungs, causing him to cough, earning laughs from the others.

"Newbie?" One of the men in a white pressed, ruffled shirt asked from a round seat next to where a cute girl in a black cocktail dress sat, just staring with her smoky eyes. Will diverted his eyes to the man in white.

As he opened his mouth to say something, Jack shook his head. "I don' know him. Yeh, mate, you a newbie?" Jack looked at him teasingly.

"Screw you," Will breathed, a small smirk leaking onto his features. As he turned to walk away, he felt icy fingers curl around his wrist and pull him back. Turning, he came face to face with the man in white. Raising an eyebrow and looking down to where the man held him, the unimpressed young man clenched his jaw.

"You only took one hit, man! You gotta take two before you feel anything. C'mon!" He grinned, letting go of Will's wrist and spreading his arms in a welcoming fashion. Running back to his seat, he flopped down and threw his arm around the smoky eyed young woman who continued to stare. Will's eyes flitted to her face. She seemed unfazed by the people around her, unfazed by the arm around her shoulders, unfazed by the martini she held between her long fingers. Her light brown hair was held up into a loose bun at the back of her head, letting wisps drop down onto her face, like trails of honey. Her dark eyes met his and an amused, nearly translucent smile inched onto her striking face. She broke his gaze and smiled down at the floor beneath her, reaching up with her martini hand to itch her nose with her pointer finger. He peered away.

It seemed as if wide grins surrounded him everywhere, egging him on, like Cheshire cats, bodiless, white grins peering at him through the dangerous blue smoke.

Shaking his head, Will grabbed the joint in Jack's hand and took another long drag from it. He held it in his mouth for awhile, tasting its smokiness, almost tasting the dampness of the room. Opening his mouth, he watched the smoke gracefully billow from his mouth in silky streams, float up against the ceiling and spread like spilled milk. He shut his eyes and grinned, passing it back to Jack.

"Here, now take some of this." He felt someone take him by his shoulders and push him into a warm, comfortable chair. He sunk into it gladly and sighed, taking whatever had been thrust into his hand. He opened his eyes and looked down at it. Cocktail, maybe?

_Whatever_, his addled brain reasoned. He threw it all down, his face seizing as he tasted the contents, before swallowing, feeling as if he'd swallowed liquid hot magma down his throat. He gasped, opening his eyes widely. "What was that?" He rasped.

Jack appeared in front of his face. A halo appeared around his dark features as Will's vision dimmed slightly. _Something must be wrong. Jack? Halo? No._

"It's called an _El Presidente_, young William. And now th'party starts, my good friend." He chuckled, leaving Will blinking viciously, trying to get rid of the splotches. This wasn't a party. What was going on?

* * *

"Are you alright?" A soft voice sounded in his ears.

_Am I dead? If Jack went and got me fucking poisoned and I'm dead right now, I'll haunt him 'til his last breath. Mother fu—_

"Wake up."

A dim light appeared in his vision as he blinked. The more he blinked, the more blurry his vision, so he clenched his eyes shut tightly. When he opened them again, his vision seemed to start to clear up.

"You're ok."

A girl came into his focus. She was gorgeous. _Shit, I am dead. I'm seeing damn angels now. Jack, you killed me._

"A—Angel?" He mumbled before he could stop himself.

She laughed, wiping a strand of his dark hair from his eyes. "My father seems to think so, but we won't tell him otherwise, will we?" She said, smirking down at him. "Come on, let's get you sitting up."

He let her take his arms and pull him up. He soon felt his back against a hard surface. "Woops, wait…" He heard rapid movement and saw the flash of moving hands.

Now it was soft. Peering back, still slightly dizzy, he saw a pillow behind him. _Ah…hence the hardness turned to softness._

"How's that?" The voice continued. It was low, but still very girlish, a posh London accent. He smelled her before he saw her. She smelled like hyacinth or…roses. With a hint of lime. Her hand swiped across his face to push his hair from his eyes again. He received a particularly strong waft of lime. Her fingers were lime-smelling. It was nice.

"Good," he breathed, finally able to see clearly. "W—What happened? Am I dead?"

She giggled again, leaning on her knees before him, her hands cupping his cheeks so that she could look at his pupils. "You're very much alive…Will, was it?"

"Yeh. Will." And here was the smoky-eyed girl, the one who had so momentarily captured him back when he was taking those puffs with Jack and the white-shirted bloke.

"God, your friend fixed you something nasty."

"What's an _El Presidente_?" Will asked.

"Well, it's part Grenadine, part sweet vermouth, part—Well anyways, that doesn't matter, because that certainly wasn't an _El Presidente_ you drank. Your friend was bloody drunk and high off his arse when he made that drink, so I wouldn't doubt he put something nasty in there." He studied her closely and she must've noticed because she raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

"What's your name?"

Her chin drew back into her chest as she smirked her pretty pouting lips at him. "Listen pal, I was just making sure you were alright. This isn't an invitation for…whatever is floating through that trashed mind of yours."

His eyes widened significantly. "Wait, no! I didn't mean that. I just—I gave you my name and I thought you might have done the same. I mean, I didn't. I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "Got anymore of those _El Presidente_'s?" He finished lamely.

She laughed, rocking back to rest her weight on her calves and peer at him. "You're crazy, but I kinda like it. At least you aren't like your friend out there. I have no idea what he hit, but he hit it fast whatever it was."

"His motto is 'Hit it. Hit it fast'."

"Really?"

"No, but he does it a lot when I don't watch him."

"Mm, and who looks after _you_, Will?"

With a smug grin, he licked his awfully dry lips and breathed in, his answer coming out with his breath. "You."

"Is it?" She asked. "By the way, I'm Elizabeth." She stuck out her hand. When Will blinked once, she took his hand of her own volition and shook it. "There."

"Will you be ok if I leave you here and bring you some coffee?"

"As long as Jack's passed out somewhere and won't give me a joint or an _El Presidente_, or _any_ drink for that matter, I think I'll be fine."

"Good." She smiled, gazing into his eyes again, looking at his pupils for any brain damage, Will surmised. She stood carefully so as not to reveal anything beneath her black cocktail dress. "I'll be right back."

"Not going anywhere," he chuckled, shutting his eyes again.

He started feeling the tingles come back through his toes, up his calves, through his thighs, shooting passed his torso and down to his fingers, back up again, until they stopped at his head.

"Will?"

His eyes snapped open. She leant before him again, holding the coffee out to him. He eyed it warily. Why did he suddenly feel as if he could trust her? If he couldn't trust Jack Sparrow, his best mate since he was just a boy, how could he trust this smoky-eyed woman he barely just met?

But he took it and drank a few sips. "Thanks," he breathed, sinking back against the pillows again. "So Elizabeth…"

"Yes?" Grabbing a pillow, she shoved it beneath her small backside and sat, her legs bent to the side in front of her. He noticed that she probably still had some of that joint she shared with white shirt man in her system. Her eyes were rather glazed.

"Why did you help me? My own best mate didn't help me."

She looked up at him, her dark brown eyes meeting his. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, then shut it, her shoulders sagging. Her pouted red lips eased into a small smile. "I don't know. You hit the floor a few seconds after your friend gave you that drink." She paused. "You're different. Know what I mean?" She leaned closer, tilting her head to the side.

"No," he whispered, still paying rapt attention.

She bit her lip, diverting her gaze from him. "God, these fucking potheads are everywhere in here. And I come here every damn night. And I sleep with some of them, if I've taken enough hits." Elizabeth looked at him again, her eyes suddenly a bit desperate, as if she needed someone to hear her, needed someone to understand. And suddenly, Will Turner wanted to be that someone.

"Go on," he whispered, sitting up and watching her, his eyes wide.

"But I don't get anything from this shit, anymore. God, if I wasn't so bloody bored, I could quit this whole scene in a minute. I could go to school rather than sitting on my arse in my dad's place, doing nothing with my damn life." Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "I could be something. You get what I mean?"

He nodded, looking down in slight shock as he found his hand had moved of its own volition to rest atop hers. Will looked up and saw her eyes rise to his. She smiled at him genuinely.

"I mean, you're different, Will. You don't do this shit all the time, do you?" It wasn't a question, Will knew. So he just shrugged sheepishly. "I didn't think so," she said. "You really took that first hit worse than I took _my_ first hit."

He laughed. "Not my thing."

"I have a secret." She leaned forward and the young man could feel the heat from her warm body. He smelled alcohol on her breath. "It's not my thing either."

They smiled at each other, before Will shook his head and grabbed his cell phone from his pocket. Peering at the time, he groaned. "Shit, I have to go. It's almost 2 A.M."

"Damn, so do I. Can I drop you off?"

"Huh?"

She just stood up and reached down to help him. He accepted her help and allowed her to lead him, albeit however wobbly their steps were, and finally, after a maze of rooms, a maze of passed out, sleeping, stoned, punch-drunk people, they reached the cool air of the outdoors.

She took her cell phone out from a small handbag he had not noticed until now. She probably grabbed it on her way outside, he realized. He really _was_ drunk. Or stoned. Either one. Or both, perhaps.

"Lawrence," her crisp voice cut through the night fog, making a slight cloud on its own. Will took his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders. She turned to regard him and grinned, obviously not used to the gesture. "I'm at Mods. Yes. Thanks."

Within five minutes, a nice cab pulled up in front of them and a driver leaned out. "You folks call for a cab? This _is_ Mods, yea?"

"Yes," Will answered, leaning down. He opened the door and helped Elizabeth in first, dropping his own body into the seat. He thought momentarily of running in to retrieve Jack, then the slightly rebellious part of his brain took over, and he shut the cab door, telling the driver his address.

The ride was silent, except for the melodic _tick tick tick_ of the wooden cross hanging from the rearview mirror hitting the beads that hung beside it. Will's hands felt strange, almost as if they didn't want to be stuck to his lap, as if they'd rather be elsewhere.

His eyes flicked to the young woman beside him and almost jumped, as her eyes bore straight into his. Her lips upturned slightly in the corners, before she turned away to look out the window again. He continued to stare, completely aware of the fact that she could absolutely tell, despite that she faced fully away from him. He didn't know why, but this girl who was definitely not his type was suddenly so alluring that he felt his head almost caving in with the pressure. Light flickered across her features with each streetlight the taxi passed. And each time, her face was illuminated in a white light that somehow enhanced everything about her. And he was entranced, mesmerized, beguiled.

Her hair had since fallen from its haphazard bun, residing itself into a nice ponytail. He watched as she reached her fingers up to pull his jacket closer against her and shut her eyes against the glass, her eyelashes brushing delicately against the skin beneath her eye.

_Jesus, that joint makes me see the most detailed shit._

"Will?"

He shook his head, then looked straight ahead at the road before them before answering. "Yes?"

"I think I'm high."

Will chuckled, leaning back into his seat and peering over at her, a silly grin on his face. He was about to agree with the sentiment for his own situation, but immediately stopped, the grin leaving his face. Tears lined her eyes and her lip quivered.

He watched her bite her bottom lip and clench her lips together tightly, as if the ward off the tears. He bolted up and scooted closer to her, reaching up to touch her shoulder beneath the thick material of his jacket. He squeezed comfortingly. "Whoa, Elizabeth. What happened?"

"I don't want this anymore," she said.

He recoiled, swallowing. "Uh…want what?" He felt where this was going. And he wasn't even close to being able to deal with it. She would go on to say she hated her life, her job, her family, her friends. And she'd want to die. And all the pressure would be on his shoulders. _Damn_ him for always having to be a good listener. He got himself into the worst predicaments ever.

"I don't want to rebel, Will." She sniffed quietly. He couldn't find anything to say. He was so confused. Thankfully, she didn't expect a reply, as she continued moments later. "I don't want to smoke pot or go to Mod clubs and sleep with dirty Mod guys who can't get over the fact that they weren't born in the fucking 60's and feel like they have to dress like the fucking Beatles all the time to make up for it. I don't want to be their bloody woman who does the same thing."

Will couldn't control his hand anymore. It reached up and wove around her shoulders. He felt tranquil and rather hazy, most likely a product of the marijuana and hard ass liquor Jack forced him to have. This whole night was a bleeding disaster! He pulled her close to his body and felt her turn her face into his shirt.

Suddenly, his entire body went numb. He was afraid. Panic rose from him like a disease, rearing its head as he felt his limbs go weak. _Oh God, the drink paralyzed me!_

But then he felt her. And only her. First he felt her small but strong hands on the sides of his ribcage. Her fingers spread against the skin beneath the cloth of his shirt, then shut, clutching his shirt tightly. Then he felt her face against his collar bone, and finally her lips, gracing his now overheated skin with their pout.

"You don't have to," he said. He shut his eyes and swore inwardly. _Shit. Shit. You stupid. You idiot. You dumb…_

"What?" She looked up at him and her eyes paralleled the smeared eyes of that first girl he saw in Mods, except Elizabeth was indefinitely prettier with her large brown eyes. She was oddly exotic, in a spoiled rich brat kind of way. He always preferred brown eyes to blue eyes anyways.

_Prefer? No. I won't see her again after this taxi stops in front of my apartment. She'll drive away feeling better about herself. Yes. But in no way will I have room to _prefer_ anything having to do with this girl. No. No. No. No. NO!_

"I meant…" he stumbled. "I meant that you don't have to be the woman those blokes want you to be. There are plenty of nice blokes that don't frequent places like that, that don't need a joint, a hot woman, and a few crazy drinks to be happy." He shrugged. "Frankly, I could do for a banana split and a good game of cards." Will smirked, hoping to get a smile out of her.

She laughed. _Even better._

"Will, you're a square."

His smirk died down and she immediately lost her mirth. He swallowed. As he opened his mouth to defend himself, she hurried to alleviate his feelings.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it in a bad way! It's just…I'm not used to your type. The type that doesn't need the superficial shit to get a girl."

He shook his head with a smile. "Well, frankly, I don't know _what_ I need to get a girl. I'm afraid I don't attract many by sitting in the corner at parties and wishing for a good book."

She just stared at him, causing him to feel heat rise from his shirt. He swallowed and diverted his eyes.

"You're real close to getting a girl _now_." Her arms rounded his neck and she hugged herself to him closely, her body rubbing against his. He found he could do nothing but hold her, wrap his arms securely around her and let her cling to him for this one moment, aware that he was all she had for now, despite knowing _nothing_ about this gorgeous mystery woman.

"Elizabeth, I don't know you at all. But I can already tell this sort of thing makes you unhappy."

"You think?" She asked, looking up at him smugly.

He rolled his eyes. "L—Look," he said, flustered that he wasn't getting much that came out of his mouth right. "I don't know why you keep coming back if it makes you upset to be there. Do what makes _you _happy. That's what I've been doing, despite Jack jumping down my throat. I finally gave in this one night and look what happened." He shrugged.

"It's not so easy for me. And no…no you don't know me." She smiled to lave the bite of her words. "But I wish you did." She blinked, then shook her head, as if coming out of a trance. "God, look at me. I must be a total mess. I'm sorry. I'm high and drunk and a mess."

The taxi slowed to a stop and Will once again felt panic erupt within him. This was it. He wasn't that close with this woman, but he really wanted to be. He wanted to know what it was that made her think she had to impress those people. He wanted to know what made her skin so soft, what made her eyes so mesmerizing. He wanted to see what she was like without being under the influence of drugs and alcohol, without the thick eyeliner and mascara, without the rest of the makeup.

But he was digging through his wallet, trying to find the money for the driver.

"Don't worry about it," a quiet voice sounded from beside him. Will turned and looked at her. She was smiling, but there was something gone from her eyes. Her shoulders were slumped as she reached over and pushed his hand with the wallet back. "Trust me, this isn't anything for me. Thanks for letting me spew at you." She blushed in embarrassment as she handed the driver the money.

"That wasn't anything for _me_," he said. His eyes widened. "I didn't mean it that way! I mean, it was _everything_! What I meant was…it wasn't a burden. I…I mean I enjoyed it. Not your pain, though. I enjoyed you being so…" He stared at her, his cheeks reddening. "…close to me."

_Oh God, it's the alcohol and drugs talking. Oh Jesus, please. Get out of the car, Will. Now. Get out, walk away, don't look back. Forget it._

She giggled. "It was nice meeting you, Will." He watched her hand come out and extend to him for a shake. He took it and held it, not shaking it, but just clutching it warmly.

"It's been wonderful. Thanks for taking care of me when I…you know."

"Sure."

As he turned to get out, she burst forward and took his face in her hands, kissing his cheek softly, a much more graceful action than her seizing of his head. He blushed. Maybe it wasn't the alcohol or drugs. Maybe he truly liked this girl.

He got out of the taxi and sighed. _I've known this girl for a few hours at the most and I feel as though I'm still sitting in there with her, as if I'm still beside her, saying stupid idiotic things, watching her smile. Christ, what's wrong with me?_

"Will!"

He stopped at his door and turned, raising an eyebrow as he watched her clamor out of the door and rush at him. She stopped, her cheeks blazing and her eyes on fire.

"Your jacket." She shrugged it off her shoulders and handed to him.

But both started as the screech of tires sounded in their ears. They turned to see the taxi tear away. "Shit!" Elizabeth cursed, running back to the sidewalk and watched it turn the corner. "Shit!" She repeated, dropping her chin to her chest with a sigh.

"God, I'm so sorry! I can…" He watched as she walked up to him, trying to finish his sentence, but finding it harder each step she took toward him. "I can call you a—" He swallowed audibly. "…another one. A taxi, that is."

"Will, I may be under the influence, but would you trust me if I said it has nothing to do with my desire to follow you up to your apartment?"

His eyes exploded open as his jaw fell. "I…trust you."

"Then open your damn door."

He reached around her and set a hand to her back, leading her to the door. As he opened it, he allowed her in first, then followed, shutting it behind him. When he turned around, his jacket was off her shoulders and on the coat rack beside the door.

His ears had a low ringing in them, almost as if a small man was constantly banging a gong next to his eardrums. He grabbed his ear and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the horrible noise.

"Will?"

He looked up to see her raising her eyebrow at him. "You ok?" She asked, uncertainly.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. I've never done…that before."

She smiled bitterly, looking at the picture in his entry way. "I've done it too much." He watched as she edged closer to the framed photo. A tall man stood with rain boots and a newsboy cap, grinning widely at the camera. He had black hair, cropped very short, with strong features. Beside him was a small boy, looking nearly exactly like the man. His arm was raised, his hand clutching his father's tightly.

"Is this your father?" He nodded and she smiled, looking back at the photo. "You were adorable," she giggled. "Your dad still live here?"

"No, he passed away awhile ago."

Her gaze clouded and she looked away, blushing. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I'm alright." He walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. When she turned and looked up at him, her eyes were wild. Yes, wild was all he could think of to describe them. Her dark eyes called to him.

His fingers moved to lightly graze her cheeks as he leaned down. She tilted her head up and their lips met. It was soft, powerful, and oddly satisfying, Will noticed. Other girls he kissed either slapped him, or immediately stuck their tongues down his throat.

She just stood, receiving his attention, reflecting it back to him. He felt her hand touch the skin on the back of his neck and pull him closer. Will set his other hand to the small of her back and pushed her gently against the wall, just beside where the picture of he and his father in the rain hung.

_No, Will. No, Will. This is not ok. You're drunk and high._

She whimpered lightly against his lips and he put more of his strength into the kiss, his hand moving from her cheek to her neck, his thumb moving in circles against her soft skin there.

_Yes, Will. No! No!_

He pulled away quickly, his breath coming in quick gasps. She regarded him with question for just a moment, then moved to kiss him again, but he stepped away. "Wait."

Her capable fingers were poised at the buttons of his shirt. "Wait?"

"I…don't do this."

Shaking her head, she seized his face and brought it down to kiss again.

Moments later, Will found he had lifted her against him and was stumbling into the hallway and pushing open his bedroom door. _You don't do this! You don't know her! Stop! Now!_

Turning off his conscience, Will lowered her onto his bed and immediately covered her, his hands roaming all over her body, pushing the fabric up her thigh, brushing the hair from her neck, pulling her strap from her shoulder. His fingers lightly traced from her shoulder to her own fingers. He lifted her hand and set his lips to each of her fingers, watching her warmly as she smiled up at him.

Her other hand immediately unbuckled his belt and he dove in to catch her lips again. Slowly, meticulously, she took everything from his body save his briefs. As he pulled his lips from hers and opened his eyes, he blushed at the gawking praise in her stare. Yeah, he went to the gym a few mornings a week and played football with Jack and the fellas on the weekend.

Reaching up, he undid the bed and stood, pulling her to stand beside him. His mind was already clouding as his fingers slid under the fabric of her short black dress. He felt the silkiness of her underwear and smiled against her jaw, his lips dragging along her skin.

He saw her bite her lip and groan achingly close to his ear. He pulled back when she gasped, his eyes wide, afraid he had done something she didn't like. She was looking down, behind her. He followed her eyes and peered down to where he was lifting her dress. Her soft, bare skin was pressed against the bed post, its black polished chrome most likely cold against her overheated skin.

She smiled at him, reaching behind her to undo her zipper. As she pulled it down, she bit her lip. Will snapped back to attention, diverting his eyes from her lips, when she stopped. Taking the initiative, he reached behind her and unzipped the back of her dress completely, letting it fall over her shoulders and reveal her black lacy bra.

This girl was different from any other girl he had dated. _Dated? I'm not dating this girl! I've known her for an hour! Shit!_

Once again, Will forced his mind into silence, pushing the dress all the way down to her feet, where she stepped out of it, revealing matching black panties. He looked up at her from his place on his knees, his hands clutching her waist. Shutting his eyes, he pressed his face against her bare, flat stomach and nuzzled, kissing a pattern along her skin as he slowly stood before her.

"What is this?" She breathed against his ear as he hugged her to him. He pulled back again, confusion written on his handsome features. Was she having regrets? Was she going to cry again and spew more about her regrets in her lifestyle? Was she going to call him different?

Was he different?

He saw her hand on his bed post.

_Oh._

"My bed post," he said simply. Giving him a glare, she continued.

"No, what's it made of? It's like nothing I've ever seen before…at least on a bed."

"Chrome."

"I thought chrome was silver."

"It's black chrome," he breathed against her lips. As he kissed her languidly, seductively, he felt her melt into his hands. Will Turner wasn't an amateur in everything. In fact, in the seduction department, when he really wanted to, he could entice women by just flashing his eyes in their direction.

"How can chrome be black?" She whispered against his lips, relinquishing her hold on the bed post to weave her fingers through his hair.

Laughing, he replied, "Not all chrome is silver and gold."

She fell back onto the bed, pulling him with her. His hands immediately began exploring her skin, sometimes softly, sometimes roughly, but it had its given effect, causing her to gasp and writhe.

Making sure Elizabeth's head was appropriately on his pillow, Will continued his teasing, ignoring the sirens in the back of his mind. Who was this girl? What would happen in the morning? Would there be a morning? He had never taken a woman in his bed within hours of their meeting. Usually there were dates before even a kiss. The sex came later, if ever.

But there was something about this smoky-eyed girl's mouth, her skin, her hair, how she smelled, that caused him to throw everything away for just one night of heaven in her arms, damn the consequences.

Her fingers were sheer havoc beneath the waistband of his briefs, teasingly pulling at the elastic. Without beating around the bush, Will tugged her undergarments from her, dropping them beside his bed, before moving away from her to discard his own underclothes.

Hovering above her, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her lightly. Moving his lips to her ear, he whispered nonsense, rounding her waist with his arms, pulling her protectively to his body.

He pulled back and watched her as she in turn stared at him. Reverently kissing her cheek, Will breathed a quiet sentiment against her skin.

"You're mesmerizing."

Everything stopped.

"What?"

Will swallowed, meeting her eyes. "I mean, you're…" He shook his head, suddenly feeling a blush creep across his features. "…_mesmerizing_."

She tilted her head, her eyes uncertain, her mouth open as if she wanted to say something but nothing would escape her lips. She reached up and set her hand on his cheek so that he could feel the soft skin of her palm against his chin, her fingers brushing his ear. Without a word, she pulled his head down to hers and kissed _him_ this time.

He felt her bend her legs at his sides and pull him closer. As Will kissed her, he felt Elizabeth's lips widen into a smile against his own lips, but that smile quickly vanished the moment he pushed himself into her.

He felt an explosion in his head and couldn't see anything but spots momentarily. Her once gentle fingers clung to his back and she gasped audibly, throwing her head back against the pillow.

His lips dragged over her throat and neck as his hips moved. He felt electricity for the first time in his life rocketing through his limbs. He felt a woman beneath him that wasn't a timid girl. Elizabeth was something new, something better, something he wanted more of.

As he sped his pace, he heard her breathing become more labored. So he moved slightly to the side and propped himself up on his elbows so as not to crush her with his weight. She whimpered as he moved, and as he opened his eyes, he was absolutely shocked to see her staring straight at him.

For some reason, the buzzing erupted back into his ears and he shut his eyes, hunching his back to bury his face in her neck. As he continued his thrusts, he was surprised to feel her hand leave his shoulder and reappear suddenly just below his naval.

His eyes snapped open again and he pulled up to look at her, shock smacked on his face. He groaned as her hand moved lower, lower, lower. He let out a low growl, frustrated at his lack of control with his thrusts. He was _always_ controlled in sex.

Usually Will's number one priority was to push the woman to her climax, no matter the costs, even if he had to forego his own extent of pleasure. (While he would reach his end, it was debatable whether each woman he made love to fully reciprocated the act. But he never once complained.

Until now.

This unusually vibrant woman was sending chills cascading through him, she was meeting his every move with one of her own, emitting sounds he wasn't used to hearing, and it was sending him over the edge.

Unable to hold himself up after a few minutes, he collapsed against her again, his hand falling to her thigh and pulling her closer, pushing himself deeper into her softness, emitting groans of his own.

It took them hours upon hours, with interchanging partners on top, many different surfaces, and a few bruises and scratches on each of their bodies. But finally, they lay in a tangled heap, their limbs clinging desperately, their breath mingling, and their heaving chests matching perfectly.

"Elizabeth, I—"

But he stopped his whisper, for her slim finger was pressed softly against his lips. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

Will Turner was left in absolute awe of this woman. She was beautiful, sexy, a powerhouse in bed…but more than anything, he felt something click inside of him. Suddenly he knew…this wasn't going to _be_ a one night stand. This was going to be something better, something more.

He could feel it in the way she clung to him at this very moment, so desperately, so adoringly.

But he still wondered…

She didn't say anything to him. She just lied there with her face in his chest. And was that a…a tear? He was aware of wetness on his chest. But when he tried to pull away, she just clung harder.

So he held her, receiving no further evidence of her crying, but her grip never faltered. He held her. With everything in him, he held her.

And whispered words of love into her ear. Words of longevity.

And he knew beyond a doubt that she would be clinging just as hard when he woke up in the morning. And maybe tomorrow night she might cling again.

And they'd never see that ragged guy in the white ruffled shirt, or _Mods_, or that purple sunglasses man. Because they would have each other, and he would protect Elizabeth.

He was in love.

And those were the last words he whispered into her ear that night before falling into a deep, fully relaxed and confident slumber.

"I love you."

* * *

_Oh God, the pain._

He opened his eyes and groaned, both at the light flooding in from the slit between his blinds and the dull throbbing of nearly every part of his body. He had _never_ woken up this sore from sex. And it was oddly exhilarating.

Everything about this girl was oddly exhilarating.

As he turned over, he found there was no beautiful, sleeping girl lying beside him. But her imprint was there. It was real. He flopped his body onto the side she slept in and grinned, smelling that particular scent that flooded his nostrils as they made love hours into the morning.

He looked at the clock beside the bed. _10 AM…perfect time for…_

He paused, hearing the shower.

_That_ is_ the shower, right?_

He sat up slowly and groaned again, feeling a dull pain especially in his groin. Ruffling his hair with his hand, he looked around the room and panic suddenly struck him in the chest.

Her clothes were gone.

Her purse was gone. He remembered exactly where everything had been and her purse was lying against the wall nearest the door to his hallway. And it was gone.

No, no. The shower.

So he got up and pulled his briefs on, before going to the bathroom and pushing the door open. The shower curtain was pulled wide open. The water wasn't running. His towels and toiletries were just where he had left them. Nothing had changed. And Elizabeth wasn't in his shower.

That's when he realized. It wasn't _his _shower he had heard. It was the shower in the flat above his.

The panic was gone.

And in its place was only a deep regret. A deep empty feeling rooted in the pit of his stomach. He pulled a white t-shirt on and walked out through the hallway, checking the rooms, knowing that he wouldn't find her.

And when he didn't find her, it made the pain only worse.

He slumped down into his kitchen chair and hung his head in his hands. God, all of that was just…

Will felt the need to vomit, but he pushed it down.

This was what Jack had nearly every weekend, but not once did it bother him, did it shake him as it had Will. He swallowed audibly and sighed. A one night stand.

And though he tried to forget it, forget everything he had felt the night before, her arms around him, their lips together, their bodies mingling as one…all he kept hearing were the last words he had said.

_I love you._

_

* * *

_

(A/N:) Thanks for reading, everyone! And extra thanks to anyone and everyone who helped me with this story! You know who you are!!! And thank you to Jim Morrison. For showing us all the way to beautiful music. God, you don't even need to be high to love his music. That's Jesus, right there.

Thanks!


	2. Sonata

**Black Polished Chrome**

**Author: boot-stealer**

**Summary: **Jack takes Will out clubbing in London. Will's night is turned upside down by substances, and righted again by the company of a woman. AU Modern Willabeth

**Disclaimer:** By my knowledge, none of the clubs actually exist in London. I do not own Jack, Will, or Elizabeth, but I do own this plot and I own any new characters that may grace the story.

* * *

It was another one of those days.

One of those days where you do absolutely nothing and it makes you more restless than you would have been if you were busy.

One of those days in which I would end up drinking the night away.

Weatherby Swann was at a meeting.

And when he returned home, he would bring with him some roses, or a flower, or something nice and shiny, maybe a diamond necklace. It signified his love for his daughter. Me.

His love, or maybe his blindness.

Yes, he was blind. Not in the literal sense, of course. He could see just fine. Except when it came to his one and only daughter, his angel. Yes, I was my father's angel. I _am_ my father's angel.

Yet, almost every night, my twenty-four year old self disappeared into London for a good time. A good time my father never knew about. If he _did_ know, he turned a blind eye, and went on seeing me as his innocent baby girl.

I hadn't moved from this spot all day, the wind blowing against my skin through the window, the soft sound of the leaves in the tree swishing against each other with every gust.

Daddy doesn't care. He loves me. He always says I'm his princess, his angel that he was blessed with when mum passed away.

But he couldn't possibly begin to know the truth. He didn't care about the truth, because for as long as I lived, he would pay my way through life, get me out of trouble, and things would go back to normal. I'm his angel. Prison time, drug use, alcoholism…none of it deters from the vision he has of Daddy's little girl.

Of course, I've never made it to prison, nor can I really be deemed an alcoholic. I'm far too controlling to become dependent on something like fucking alcohol.

This whole vision of Daddy's little girl…I never wanted this vision. I am Daddy's little girl, but I'm not so innocent anymore. I have no reason to be.

I lay on the window seat with the window wide open out into the garden of my father's large English estate. It wasn't far out of the way to go into London, for I usually used his driver. And the drive into the city where _Mods_ was took maybe fifteen minutes, depending on traffic.

The long, mesh curtain blew with the breeze and fluttered down around my face, shrouding me in its whiteness. I breathed in and shut my eyes, suddenly feeling the need to have a cigarette. Or something.

I do nothing to move the curtain from my face, because it reminds me of those nights out with Bill, and Mary, and Gertie, Steve, Jackie.

It reminds me of the distorted view of a dark room, my mind and vision clouded by the numerous hits I took of that powerful shit Robbie found.

The curtain is tickling my bare belly but I like it. I want my mother here. I want her to hit Daddy across the face. I want her to curse at him and put him down. I want her to yell that I'm not an angel, that I'm a spoiled twenty-four year old brat who needs a hit across the mouth.

And I want Daddy to realize that Mum _is_ gone. That _I'm_ gone. But he won't. Because that curtain has long since fluttered over his own eyes, but unlike me, he can no longer push it away from his face and back to the window. He will forever be shrouded in blindness.

Because I am his princess, his gem, his beautiful angel.

What I wouldn't give for a good joint right now. Not only because being stoned blocked the crap out of my life, but because I could picture the burning, red hot end of the joint "accidentally" touching the curtain. It would catch the white material on fire, enshrouding me in flames. I would be too slow to move, and my father would come in to find his angel, his innocent daughter, burned from the waist up. Dead.

I stood from where I was perched, brushing the stupid curtain from my face. Wow, I'm such an emo today.

In reality, I hated thinking suicidal thoughts about death, burning…dying…

Because I loved the way I could give my father one look and have him chalking up whatever amount of money I wanted. I loved that I went to four years of Uni, studied English, and did nothing with it. And that I was _able_ to do that.

But then I would get those moments where I would start to think about my life. Like now, for instance. I pushed my way into my large room, my toes curling against the tan carpet beneath them, and pulled my hair up, letting a few wisps of hair fall from the loose bun.

I lightly applied my make up.

Where to tonight?

All I knew was that I would end up at _Mods_. Because it was where I always ended up. When everywhere else failed, there was always some bloke to lose myself in, some drink  
I could pour down my throat.

Freedom is mine and I know how I feel.

And God, I'm feeling good, to quote Nina Simone.

I pull my little black cocktail dress on, in the complete backwards order, knowing I risked getting make-up on it, or perhaps mussing my hair. But I don't give a shit as I admire myself in the little thing.

Whatever.

I spray myself with some nice rose-smelling perfume, letting it sink into my skin. Is this really what I want to do tonight? Go out and get high, drink martinis, watch people amble about who think they live in the 1960s?

What else could I do?

Pulling on my black three inch heels, I clicked out of the hallway, my purse in hand.

"Dimitri! The car!" I called down the stairs as I carefully made my way down the spiral staircase. A good-looking middle aged man came from the kitchen.

"Miss Swann." He nodded at me with a smile, leading me out to his limousine. "Where are we going tonight, then?"

"Oh, I don't know yet. Out somewhere."

He sighed and got in the car, pulling out of the roundabout driveway and moving towards London, where I would find what I needed.

I always did.

* * *

"Take a hit, babe."

I shook my head. "I've had enough, Rob."

Ignoring me, he went back to his joint.

Yeah, I ended up at _Mods_, as I predicted. And more than likely, I would end up in Rob's bed tonight. His little shit hole apartment. He seemed awfully possessive of me tonight, but maybe I could get him wasted and stoned enough that he would pass out. And then I could sneak off into the night.

I suddenly felt the desire to return home. To my father.

To where I could be myself, curl up next to the only real man in my life as he read his newspaper, his glasses pushed up to the bridge of his nose. And I would put my head on his shoulder and remember a time when my mother would be there with us.

I peered up and saw a dark-haired man grinning lopsidedly at me as he sat in one of the bean bags. He held Robbie's joint in his hand and took a deep breath, setting it to his lips and letting the purple smoke leak out of his lips. It was kind of sexy in that moment, his strangely crooked way of sitting and the odd way he represented himself.

Major macho-man complex. That was for sure.

"Will!" He shot up from his chair clumsily and almost tipped over, stumbling to some guy who had seemingly materialized from behind the smoke. I stopped breathing. God, this guy had never come to _Mods_ before. That was for damn sure.

I certainly would have noticed, but in my hazy state of mind, I wasn't too positive. I took a sip from my martini, swishing it around, before I looked up to find the strange dark haired guy pulled his hot friend closer.

I got a good look at him now as he towered over me. Robbie squeezed my shoulder before standing. With his stupid white ruffled shirt. As if he were Davey Jones from the Monkees or something. Where are your raiders, Paul Revere? Jerk.

I saw the two men arguing, the joint moving back and forth between them. Obviously, hot new guy didn't want the damn thing and his friend couldn't accept it. Typical.

"Yeah, mate. Hit it!" The odd-ball said, pushing it back to his friend.

"No!"

Robbie became impatient. "Just do it! Can't hurt you."

Those stupid videos in grade school weren't lying about peer pressure. It only took a few more coaxing words, before he put it to his lips and breathed in, immediately causing him to cough violently, shoving the joint back at his friend. A few of the others laughed at the poor bloke, but I found the situation pretty anti-amusing.

Why the fuck did his friend bring him to a place like this?

He obviously didn't belong. I looked at Robbie who was still laughing. "Newbie?"

The sexy square kind of glared at Robbie, who had plopped down beside me again, his arm around my shoulders. But then his gaze diverted, as if he hadn't noticed me before. And his eyes met mine. I swear, my martini almost slid from my fingers to the floor.

His eyes were a deep brown. He was adorable, the way he swallowed almost audibly over the sexy voice of Jim Morrison.

He suddenly looked away.

"I don' know 'im," his sleazy friend said quickly. Yeah, mate, you a newbie?"

"Screw you," Gorgeous Guy said. And well deserved, Mr. Sexy! I took another sip from my martini and watched as he smirked in amusement. A sense of humor…that's very interesting. Maybe he wasn't _so_ much of a square.

My heart rose into my throat as I watched him turn around. No, please stay. I wanted to stare some more into those eyes, or maybe touch him. Not anywhere in particular. I wondered what he had that he could offer a woman besides eye candy. I let him know with one of my seductive maybe-later-we-can-go-to-bed looks.

He missed it. Stupid Robbie, pulling him back to argue. If the guy doesn't want more than one hit, let him be. He obviously didn't really appreciate the first one. Move on, don't force your shit on him. Even though it was pretty good shit.

I watched the Gorgeous Guy, who mulled it over in his head. I recognized that look. It was the "Fuck it, I've got nothing to lose" look. I knew the look well. Seen most often in the mirror.

He stared at me again and I bravely met his beautiful eyes. They were like pools of deepness or something poetic. Fuck my English major at uni. He would not look away, and while I would call anyone else an absolute creeper for it, I felt comforted. If some terrorist burst into the club right now, he would protect me and, I don't know, jump in front of a bullet or something for me. That's what his eyes were saying.

Maybe I had too many hits already.

I finally had to look away. I felt myself blushing. God, he really was hot.

When I looked back to him, he brought the joint back to his lips again, this time savoring the contents before pushing the smoke from his mouth smoothly. There it is. As he passed the cig back to his mate, the guy pushed a drink into his hand.

Uh oh.

He threw the shit-colored drink down his throat without another thought and was out. Coughing and sputtering, he dropped the cheap plastic glass to the floor and held his throat. I set my martini aside and bounded up, afraid his friend may have inadvertently poisoned him.

But he stood upright again.

Oh, maybe it was just a bit too strong. I felt sheepish as Robbie looked at me strangely. I swallowed hard and looked back to Beautiful Eyed Sexy Man. His eyes weren't quite as deep and mesmerizing. In fact, they were blinking wildly. And he was swaying dangerously.

"Shit!" I cursed, preparing my slightly inebriated self to help him.

Looking to my side, I saw that both Robbie and Odd-ball had disappeared. Oh, great. Way to ditch your mate, jerk off.

When I looked back, my new charge was gone. I paused, cocking my head in confusion. Where the hell did he off to?

But my question was answered when I looked down, for he was sprawled haphazardly on the ground beneath my cute black heels. I rolled my eyes and bent down. Great. This was going to be a shit long night for this kid.

* * *

Damn fucking _taxi_!!

I watched as it sped away, thanking God I held my priceless purse in my grasp. Stupid prick couldn't wait five seconds for me to give Will his coat back? Really? Shit.

I turned back to see Will staring after the taxi with wide eyes. "God, I'm so sorry! I can…" His flustered self was suddenly incredibly alluring. And I found myself moving closer. The sudden urge to touch him again was strong. "I can call you a—" He swallowed. "…another one. A taxi, that is."

I didn't want another taxi. I wanted him to bring me up to his apartment, and ultimately, his bed.

"Will, I may be under the influence, but would you trust me if I said it has nothing to do with my desire to follow you up to your apartment?"

His eyes widened almost like little explosives were put in them and the moment I said that, they went off. His lips fluttered open and closed, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. And then he stopped. "I trust you," he breathed to me.

Oh, yes.

"Then open your damn door."

He brought me inside, being absolutely adorable in his flustered state. He wasn't the first slightly nervous bloke I'd gone home with, but he was absolutely the best looking. And the sweetest.

As I went in, I noticed a picture of a man and child. I figured Will was the child, the man his father, for they were almost identical. It was a cute little picture. I studied it closer and thought back to the cab. How embarrassing was I!

But he held me. I didn't understand why I spewed myself to him, or why he didn't dive out of the cab to get away from my crazy arse. I had clung to him, to feel him against me, yes, but also to feel protected. I _did_ feel protected when he held me.

But I was still confused. I didn't spew like that to my own _father_, let alone some random sweet guy I was sharing a taxi cab with. What the hell?

More than that, I was confused at his reception. He talked to me, and what he said made so much sense. He was so nerdy, though. He liked a book more than a party. So _that's_ why he didn't have girls hanging all over him. He sat in his apartment and probably read on Friday nights. Something I would never do, despite the fact that I loved a good book.

For some reason (I felt this way along the cab ride, but I felt it even more so now, staring at his father clutching his hand in the picture), I found his innocent nature, his confidence in himself, and his sweet outlook on life wholly endearing. I saw the boy in the picture in his eyes when I looked there, that wide grin and the dimples. I saw him in his father.

"Is this your father?" I don't know why I asked, because I knew it _had_ to be his father. Maybe I just wanted to hear Will answer. I wanted to hear the emotion in his voice when he answered. "You're adorable," I said suddenly, before he could answer. I threw a look back at him, an eyebrow raised. "Your dad still live here?"

His smile twitched slightly, but his eyes still held their brightness. "No, he passed away awhile ago."

_Oh shit. _

I looked down, embarrassed, and oddly enough, incredibly sad. The man in the fishing boots didn't exist any longer. His bright smile that mirrored Will's own was gone, lasting only in this picture. And I felt it tugging at my heart strings. "I'm so sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be. I'm alright."

I turned, finding him standing right behind me. His hand was on my shoulder, his fingers grazing over the bare skin of my shoulder. And I couldn't stand it anymore. I needed him.

Almost as if in a trance, he set his hand to my cheek and leant down to kiss me. His lips almost seemed as if they were worshipping mine, moving slowly and reverently. He seemed timid and it slightly annoyed me. So I pulled him closer and kissed him harder.

His hands braced me at my waist and pushed me backwards into the wall. I made contact with a gasp and fought the urge to grin like a Cheshire cat. _This_ was more like it.

I let out a small whimper as he attacked me with his soft lips. Whimper? Did he seriously just make me whimper? Oh Jesus, this wasn't good.

His touch was killing me. Other guys didn't take this kind of time. I was in their bed within a moment of entering their flats, we got to it, and they fell asleep. I let myself out, called a taxi, and I was home. Easy as that.

But his lips were so attentive, his hands against my neck and waist.

He pulled away and I gasped, confused. Did I bite and not realize it? I'm sorry! But not really. I dove in again, but he stepped away. Oh great. I really _did_ do something wrong.

"Wait."

"Wait?" Huh? I found my fingers at the buttons of his sexy black shirt.

"I…don't do this."

I almost had to laugh, but I was too flustered to do so. He was almost more alluring in his innocent, naïve boy act. He doesn't have one night stands with pretty girls. Mhm, sure. I was almost one hundred percent sure it was an act, because a guy as hot as this had to attract all sorts of inebriated girls in bars. Even sober girls would go for him. He was _that_ hot.

Ignoring his protest, I dove in again. He grabbed at me and lifted me into his arms, stumbling and cursing his way into what I assumed was his bedroom. I couldn't rightly see _where_ he was going, but I had an inkling this would end up in the bedroom. It always did.

He put me on the bed and made love to me slowly, reverently…with my bloody clothes _on_! My eyelids fluttered at his attentions, and a heady pressure built up at my center as I felt his body lower against mine.

He was undeniably strong, and ridiculously talented with his hands and lips. I decided if he was willing, I could do this slowly. Make it last and savor it. As I got his shirt and pants off, I realized that _this _was definitely a body I had no problem savoring.

With clumsy precision, he pulled the sheets down the bed. Maybe this guy _wasn't_ so experienced. Doubt started to leak into my mind, but I fought it back. So far, he was proving far more skilled than his first puff of that joint had deemed him.

As he pulled me to stand before him, he met my eyes. I found myself drawn into him, into the way he looked at me. So much so that I soon found the touch of his rough fingers against my skin beneath my little black dress. They moved up slowly as his lips moved against my jaw. _Oh God_.

I groaned lightly, my eyes popping open in slight confusion. The guy didn't even have me in his bed yet and I was already groaning. What the hell is going on?

Suddenly I felt absolute cold against my thigh. I gasped, figuring it might have something to do with the cold bedpost he pressed me against. But when I looked up, I saw that he was wide-eyed and apologetic. I looked down and smiled. Ah, I was right.

Where was I? Yes, the zipper to my dress.

I pulled the zipper down as far as I could, but was forced to stop as my arm would not allow for any sort of position past the uncomfortable one I was in at that very moment. But before I could switch my position, he pulled my hands out of the way and unzipped it himself, pulling it down my body and lowering himself to the floor before me. He squeezed my waist and looked up at me, his brown eyes large and almost awestruck. It was incredibly flattering to see that look in his eyes, but more than that, it elicited something foreign within me.

No man had ever looked at me that way, whether I was clothed or not. Hunger, yes. Lust, yes. But never had they seen me like this and stared long enough to actually take me in. Never was there awe.

His eyes suddenly shut and I felt his stubble face pushing into my bare stomach. It tickled, but I bit my lip, still staring down at him as he seemingly worshipped my midsection. _What is _wrong_ with this guy?_

His lips moved up my abdomen, between my breasts, and to my neck. He began suckling on my neck, so I turned my head. Looking down with my hand on the bedpost, I actually got a good look at it. What the fuck was black and shiny and how did he get it on his _bed_? It was cool.

"What is this?"

He stopped, pulling back. I saw uncertainty churning through those depths of chocolate above his cheekbones. When his eyes flicked down, the uncertainty was gone and he blushed slightly. I have no idea what he thought I meant, but I pushed it from my mind when he told me it was his bed post. _No shit Sherlock_.

I kept asking questions. I really wanted to know! But he brushed them off, finally telling me it was black polished chrome. I didn't even know that existed, but he continued to kiss me and I found myself not really caring anymore _what_ the fuck it was.

I melted into him. This guy could just hold me like this and kiss me all night, and I was almost certain I wouldn't complain in the morning. His lips were bloody made of gold or something.

We finally fell back onto the bed after I asked him more stupid questions about his bed post. I don't know why, but I felt the need to draw it out even more. As impatient as I was to have him on me in the most intimate way possible, I also just wanted him to worship me with his eyes. He was so good at it. I was a fucking puddle when he flashed those dark eyes.

His hands moved all over me, causing me to ponder what he did for a living. What sort of work would he be doing that would make his hands so rough? And with hands like those, how was it possible for him to be so gentle? Why didn't every guy have hands like these?

_When will I shut up and enjoy said hands?_

I inwardly rolled my eyes at myself and shut my thoughts down, pushing my hands down his body and tucking my fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers. I almost laughed as I looked down and saw the small phrase "Too Drunk to Fuck" on the right thigh of the boxers.

It seemed as if my slightly square but infinitely sexy mystery god was, as they say, inwardly a bad boy.

My presumption was confirmed not a moment later when he took my bra off and immediately disposed of my underpants as well. Suddenly, I looked down and found his cute boxers were gone as well.

He lowered himself on top of me, his dark hair loose around his face. He kissed me. It wasn't a hungry kiss. And it had no lust whatsoever. It was wholly innocent. It caught me off-guard is what it did.

He pulled his lips away from mine and pushed them against my ear. He started whispering soft words into my ear, things about heaven and angels. At one point, I may have heard the word "beautiful" but my mind was completely focused on my lower half, where both of his hands pulled my waist fully against his.

He pulled up again, his arms still wrapped around me. It was odd. I felt so protected and safe in his embrace. As if any moment, he would sweep me up into paradise and never would anything bad happen to me ever again.

But deep inside of me, despite the way he was making me feel as his eyes burned into me, I knew it was impossible. There was no such thing as paradise and bad things _would_ happen to me, just because this was life.

C'est la vie.

As I watched him gaze at me, I decided that he _was_ different, but I had no idea what to make of him. Here was a mind-bogglingly adorable and good looking man. He couldn't take a hit worth shit, and he didn't take alcohol well at all. He was shy, but not too shy obviously, because he was now lying on top of me in his skivvies and we were about to have sex.

He moved down and I was almost sure this was it. So I braced my hands on his back, bit my lip, and shut my eyes. God, how many times had I been through this? I felt his rough cheek against my soft one, then his impossibly gently lips against my cheek, then my ear. As his body rubbed against mine, eliciting quite the response in the form of a slight gasp, I heard two words whispered into my ear that shocked me out of my sexual reverie.

In fact, you could say whatever paradise or heaven that was between us disappeared and I was plummeted back down to earth. My own impossibly dull earth.

"You're mesmerizing."

"What?" I took my hands from his back, my throat suddenly dry and my heart stopping. I was suddenly wide awake. Did he just say what I thought he said?

He suddenly seemed very nervous. I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down out of the corner of my eye. I stared at the ceiling fan above him. He pulled back and forced my eyes to meet his. When he looked at me like that, I couldn't help meeting his eyes. They were soulful, as cliché as that sounds, so full of something indescribable.

Once again, I was forced to notice that no man had ever looked at me like he was. As if he was confused by me, and thrilled by it. He was thrilled by the fact that he was being seduced, thrilled that maybe I was different for him too.

"I mean you're…" He paused and blushed, and suddenly my heart was beating again. In fact, it was almost exploding from my chest. _God, what is wrong with you, Elizabeth? Snap out of it! _

"…mesmerizing_._" He said it again. With emphasis. Mesmerizing.

I just kept my eyes on his, trying to see if perhaps the sincerity would falter and his true, playboy nature would awaken. Then we could have a good romp, and I'd leave, and he'd be no different than the rest of the jerks I slept with. But there was no faltering of genuine awe. He was on the level. He truly believed me mesmerizing. I awakened this in him.

And it was at that moment that I realized this might be something more. We had spent almost an hour just kissing and rubbing and touching. And he stopped everything, just to tell me I was "mesmerizing". No doubt, the extra breaths I was forced to take at this very moment meant something was pure about this. New.

He took the time to make me feel beautiful.

I didn't quite know how to respond to this. But I knew one thing for sure.

At that very moment, I was in love with him. I was in love with his voice, his hands, his body against mine…his genuine gaze. His cute dimpled smile.

I was in love with the fact that he didn't like marijuana. Or alcohol. Or huge parties in which people woke up the next morning with complete strangers tangled in their arms.

I opened my mouth. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell him I loved him. But my voice died in my throat, so I reached up and stroked his cheek. It was something I had never done to any man. And I liked it. I liked how he shut his eyes, as if in ecstasy.

I liked that I had that effect on him.

So I pulled his head down and kissed him. There was no lust. I meant for it to be more than that. I wanted him to know that I respected him as he had shown he respected me. I made sure he was fully on top of me and bent my legs at his waist.

I was prepared to give myself fully to this man I had met only a few hours before. Because I felt as though he knew me. It meant nothing to me that I barely knew him, because he knew _me_.

This thought caused me to grin, his lips still moving against mine.

He pushed into me slowly, and I felt helpless beneath him, my breath leaving my body. I squeezed his strong back with my fingers, not caring that I was probably leaving a mark. He felt marvelous, as unoriginal as it sounds.

And I couldn't possible begin to explain how fully I underestimated him. I felt his lips against my skin, my neck and collarbone. And his hands dragged over my body. His hips moved against mine in absolute control. But it wasn't the same kind of control I was used to.

I decided to throw off his control to see how he would react, knowing that while this man absolutely _had_ to be experienced (I could already tell), he was also used to submissive girls.

And that was something in which I was not.

But I was thrown off myself when he began to quicken his thrusts. I gasped, forced to close my eyes at the immense pleasure shooting through me. Opening them again, I stared at him. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were shut. And when his dark eyes met mine, I was pulled into his spell again. His forehead dropped to my neck and he scooted slightly to the side, shooting a strong pleasurable shock through my entire body.

He was absolutely doting, and I was worried suddenly that he was so good at pleasuring me that he was receiving nothing in return. My reputation could _not_ be tarnished, especially not with Will, a man in whom I felt I had something to prove to.

So I lifted a hand from his back and pushed it between our bodies, dragging it down his lower stomach, dragging lower, lower, lower. I found his eyes clouding as his movements became erratic. Ah, so it was working. He groaned loudly and I found myself immensely pleased.

He was causing me to make sounds I don't remember making with anyone else. I was loving every moment of him inside of me. It was killing me to know I could not just stay here with him, making God awfully great love, for the rest of my days.

It took him awhile, but finally the arm he propped himself up on began to shake with his weight, so he fell against me, causing me to moan against his neck. His hand went directly to my thigh and he bent my leg farther. I felt him inside of me even deeper and I couldn't contain my calls.

He was the best I remember ever having. And that was saying something. He was gentle and sweet, but he was also taking control and demanding of me. I had no problem meeting his needs. If I could provide him with _half_ of what I was getting beneath him, I would be content.

We spent a few more hours and many more climaxes from both parties. I seem to remember feeling that black polished chrome against me countless times.

In fact, as I seem to recall, one of his nice plush chairs was used, as well as his dresser, the window seat, and his bedroom wall, amongst other places. We were in a frenzy all night and I didn't want to stop. I couldn't stop.

I couldn't get enough of the way he was making me feel.

I wanted him.

And I got him.

I got him good.

Too good.

For as we lay there, panting and breathless, our chests heaving together, his body still intertwined with mine, he tried to speak. I stopped him. I didn't want to hear whatever he was going to say. I felt the tears from the cab ride gather in my eyes, so I hid in him. God, I hid. I clung with everything in me, to hide.

To hide the tears that were coming.

And when they did come, I let them. I squeezed him even tighter, my cheeks wet with sorrow. For I was in love with him. I was absolutely and completely in love with him.

I didn't even know him.

And I loved him.

I held in the sobs and just shut my eyes as tight as I could, feeling him against me, feeling my heart break with each nuzzle of his nose against my ear or my temple. He was still making love to me, even after all of that. He was still admiring, still loving, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

And it made everything worse. For I knew I really did get him. And it would be even worse in the morning.

But nothing prepared me for what I heard before he fell into a deep slumber.

"I love you."

As he went limp, his arms still protecting me in their warmth and love, his breathing calm and comforting to me, I cried harder, shaking as I buried myself in his embrace.

I would use what I had tonight, when I needed it the most.

As long as tomorrow, I was smart enough to wake before him.

* * *

I clumsily pulled my undergarments on, then pulled on my little black dress. It smelled like pot and alcohol and it was disgusting, but I managed to pull it on and zip it up properly.

As I haphazardly pulled on my heels and grabbed my small purse from the nightstand, I hurried to the wide open door of his bedroom and attempted to just leave.

I couldn't look back at him, for I knew it would make me sick to look at him again.

But I did look back at him.

He was turned toward me, the sheets tangled about his bottom half, his hair flopped over half his face. His features were beautiful and content, almost like a little boy. With his long eyelashes and sweet smile.

I knew with everything in me that he expected to wake up with me beside him.

Shaking my head, my bottom lip quivering, I rushed down his hallway and out the front door. Clamoring down the steps, I hurried down the street and raised my arm as I saw the yellow and black checkered cab slow.

I got in, gave my address, then slumped back into the very early morning shadow that fell upon the backseat.

My chest heaved as I cried, my hands rubbing at my face as I brought my knees up against my front, leaning against the seat in a fetal position.

My heart felt as if it was ripped in two, because I kept picturing his face when he woke up. Hopeful. Excited. He would get up and remember the night before with a wide grin on his face. He could start his life anew.

He would hop up, expecting to find me somewhere. Anywhere.

But he was smart. I knew he was. He had eyes that had seen much. His smarts exceeded book smarts. He would figure out pretty quick that I was gone. He wouldn't look for a number or a note.

He would know right off the back.

And his heart would break. If it was half as shattered as mine was now, as I sobbed so hard I could barely breathe, I couldn't bear to think of it. I couldn't bear to think of that man, so sweet and innocent, so naïve to everything, but so incredible and perfect, huddled like this in the same bed we had made love in last night, heaving with his broken heart.

I nearly wailed in my grief, causing the driver to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes flicked up to peer at me every once in awhile, worry widening them. But I didn't care.

I felt sick. I hated myself. I was trash. And I was cruel and twisted.

I saved him from a future with someone like me. I repeated this over and over in my mind. He would get over it soon.

But would I?

* * *

It took me a few weeks, but I finally got back on my feet. I did other things. _Mods_ was out of the question, because I was afraid. I was so scared he might show up there again, looking for me.

So I didn't go back there.

I hated it there.

I hated the color purple. And the shit.

I filled my days with unimportant things, trying so hard to block Will Turner from my thoughts. He loaded my mind with his voice and his eyes, the way he moved against me, the way he touched me and spoke to me.

I couldn't stand it!

I took up an art class. I sucked.

Couldn't paint worth shit. Even finger painting in school when I was six was terrible for me. I was absolutely useless. But it forced me to think. About painting. And Will was far from that.

I knew why he haunted me so.

I was still head over heels for him, and it drove me mad to know it. Even if I wanted to subject him to me again, to apologize or beg him for a date or two, to get to know him…I couldn't. I didn't know where he lived. I was buried in his chest, drowning in self-loathing in the cab. I wasn't watching where we were driving.

And I didn't have a phone number. Will Turner.

That was all I had.

I held a cute blouse off the sales rack up to me and peered at myself in the mirror. Not bad. I always looked alright in maroon and I loved the ruffles. The new in-thing, I'd read in _Vogue_, was a masculine upper body look and feminine lower body look joined together with a cute bag.

I could work that. I could work many—

He stepped out from the escalator, his head down and his hands in his pocket. Despite the way his hair hung about his face, I knew him anywhere. I knew his hair and shoulders, for I spent hours running my fingers through and over them that one night.

I ducked down behind the clothes rack, careful to keep him from seeing me. So I moved aside some clothing with my fingers and peered through at him. He stood staring at the bed sheets stacked before him. I inched closer, dodging along the clothes racks like a spy.

He was handsome as ever, strong as ever. But his eyes were dull and his shoulders slumped. So I _had_ broken his heart, and severed the gleam I remembered in him. Gone was that innocent look I adored.

I had taken that naivety from him. And I had broken his heart.

Choking back the pain in my throat, I stood up, hurt splayed across my features, no doubt.

I turned and planned to quickly make my getaway.

"Elizabeth?" There was a pause. "Elizabeth Swann?"

Oh his voice. I shut my eyes tightly. What would I do? What could I say? How could I possibly make amends for what I did?

And how could I keep myself from collapsing into his protective arms again? I couldn't.

I turned, smiling with my lips tight and eyes wide. "Will!"

He smiled, but it was an unsure smile, for his gentle lips twitched slightly. "How—" His voice cracked and he blushed, starting over. "How are you?"

"I'm good." My voice was unnaturally high and spritely. Inwardly, I was dying. This was so awkward and terrible and…wonderful. I had found him. _No! Don't lead him on again._

"Good," he said, stepping closer. "I—" Nervousness flashed across his features. "Why did you leave?"

My heart plummeted into my gut and I felt nausea flood through me. "I—I'm sorry." What else could I say?

"That doesn't answer my question, though." He shook his head. "But…but it doesn't matter now. Here we are." Will smiled and I felt horrible. "Let's get some lunch."

God, was he serious? He wanted to have lunch with me. After all of that, as if my leaving that morning wasn't an indication that this couldn't continue. It wouldn't continue. It was finished. Kaput.

"Will, no," I breathed.

His smile faded and his shoulders slumped. "What? Why?"

_Oh go away. Go away. Go away._

"I left, Will. I would have stayed if…"

"If you wanted to." He swallowed, then nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm so…" He chuckled, blushing bright red. "I'm an idiot. I didn't mean to make things uncomfortable."

I shook my head, my eyes begging for him to stop tearing me to shreds. He was blaming himself now. _Go away. Go away. Go away._

"So it was…" His eyes flicked up to mine. And I felt as if I should just run. Just run away. I already hurt him enough. He needed a good girl who wouldn't break his heart. "It was nice meeting you, Elizabeth."

I nodded. "Yeah." It was all I had the heart for.

I reached out and shook his hand with a close mouthed smile, then brushed past him, walking quickly to the escalator. I took the thing two at a time in my haste to get away from him. Then I exploded right out of the front doors of the shopping venue. I ducked into an alleyway and pressed my back against the cool stone, shutting my eyes.

At least now he knew. And he could move on.

I just wasn't sure _I_ could move on.

* * *

"Elizabeth!" I turned from where I leant on my white stone balcony, peering out over the beautiful garden behind my father's estate.

"Yes, Daddy?" I called back.

"Come down for a moment, angel!"

There it was again. Angel.

I sighed and straightened myself, walking through my room and down the winding spiral staircase. I figured he had called me from his office, so I went there straight away.

I grinned at him as he looked up from his desk. "Ah! There you are."

"Did you need me for something?"

"Yes, actually." He stood up, placing his glasses down on in front of him and coming around to put his hands on my shoulder. "You look more like your mother each day, Elizabeth."

I just smiled. He said that to me every day. And frankly, it was getting old. But then again, so was he. So I dealt with it. "Thank you, Daddy."

"Anyways," he pulled his hands away and went back to his desk. "I wanted to ask you if, perhaps, you would like to join me tonight at a nice function some of the fellows at the office invited me to."

"It's Friday night, Daddy." And it was exactly one month before that I had spent a Friday night with Will. William Turner. My eyes went downcast.

"Oh well. I thought I would invite you anyways. I realize you usually go to London on Fridays." He smiled and sat down again, leaving me to stare after him. I sighed. I hated going out to London by myself anyways, and I wasn't in the mood to see Robbie or any of the other potheads at _Mods_. They probably wondered where I was after a month of not showing up.

"What's the function?" I asked, turning and looking up at the painting of my great-grandfather Jonathon Swann.

"Some art exhibit in London. It sounds interesting. Some young man made artwork from traditional metalworking. Apparently with a forge and everything. He's doing a presentation and his work is open to public. One of my colleagues knew his father, so he received an invite and we in turn were invited as well."

"Oh. In London?" I wasn't too sure if I wanted to be there, but I suppose if I arrived on the arm of my doting father, it wouldn't be too bad. "Well…it sounds like it has the potential to be fun."

Weatherby Swann chuckled. "Oh, don't act like you aren't interested. Come. It will be fun."

"Will you talk business the entire time, Daddy? Or will you actually enjoy it?"

He came up to me again and hugged me, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "I will be with you, so no matter _what_ I do, I will enjoy it."

I giggled, kissing him back. "When shall I don my best evening wear?"

"Well, the young man…oh I forget his name…but he will begin his presentation at seven thirty. Then the exhibit opens at nine. So we will leave around seven. How does that sound?"

"Perfect. I'm going to go upstairs then and get ready."

"Already? It's only four thirty, love." He lifted his glasses back to his face.

"I'm going out with my main man, Daddy! I have to look my best." I grinned, happy for the first time in ages. It had been so long since I spent quality time with my father, and for some reason, today just felt right.

I bounded up the stairs, being far too silly and rambunctious for my twenty four years, and burst into my room again. Why was I so happy today? It couldn't be just my father.

Maybe it was the fact that I wouldn't be held to anything tonight. I could go enjoy my father and the art, and have normal conversations, not conversations about having entire universes in our fingernails or whatever people under the influence of major mushroom trips had.

I pulled out a long, satin red dress from my closet and held it up to my body, peering into the mirror. It was classic and lovely. I figured if I made myself up tonight, I could make this dress look pretty good, so I threw it on the bed and began to undress.

It was another two hours before I was completely ready, my four inch heels on and half of my hair pulled into an intricate bun and the rest flowing down my shoulders. My father knocked on my door and came in, his features lighting up.

"Ah, what a beautiful girl I'm escorting out tonight!" He chuckled and came up to me, taking my hands lovingly. I was reminded again why I loved my father so much. He was an incredible guy.

"Stop gushing, Father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

"I'm afraid I might lose you tonight if you wear that. Some nice young artist will pick you up and take you away from me."

"Will you quit it?" I put some gold dangling earrings in my ears and grabbed my long, black trench coat. Then I took my matching bag and grinned, spinning for my father. "How does it look?"

"Beautiful. Let's go. I told Jackson we'd meet them in the front at seven fifteen."

"Alright."

We drove in Daddy's limo, all grins and laughter as we joked with each other. I remembered that about my childhood. Dad and I would always laugh and tease. Then mum would come in and find us laughing together and shake her head, smiling her beautiful smile at us. Then she drove into the Thames when I was fifteen.

It took us all of twelve minutes to arrive at the small venue. It looked like a hovel in the wall, with a large beefy man standing before the door. Father walked me to the door and smiled at the man.

"Uh, hello. My name is Weatherby Swann. I'm here with the…"

"Swann?"

"Yes."

"Weatherby!" A jaunty fellow a few years older than Dad walked up to us, a girl maybe my age or a few years older on his arm. Jackson Dillinger. _It's like a corpse with a baby on its arm._

He had lost his wife before Mum died, and ever since then, his girlfriends got younger and younger each time I saw him.

"This is Carlotta. And is this…? Well, Elizabeth! Is that you, dollface?" I grinned widely. Well, he was a nice old codger, at least. "God, Weatherby, you really raised a gem!"

"I did at that," Daddy laughed, shaking Carlotta's hand. I shook Carlotta's hand as well, sending her a friendly smile. I figured it would be us two girls hanging out for the night. We were close in age, after all.

We walked in arm in arm, already chatting happily. She was a nice girl, but her head might have been a bit drafty. Poor thing.

We sat down near the back, as many of the front seats were taken up by other artists in the area, or recruiters. The stage was bare, save a large easel and a screen. I looked up and fancy that, there was a projector hanging from the ceiling.

Carlotta turned to me. "I heard he was supposed to be some young guy no one knows. Like, he makes swords and things for people who still buy that weird medieval crap, and door knobs and other random things. And then suddenly, he got all artistic and started statues I guess."

"Interesting," I said. I guess it was interesting. We would see. I looked beside me and found my father deep in conversation about the newest clientele with Jackson. I rolled my eyes. Typical Daddy.

The lights went out and a spotlight went on the stage.

"Would you like a brochure?" A nice looking older woman asked, thrusting two out to Carlotta and I. We smiled and took them. I neglected to look down at it as I focused on the spotlight.

A spruced up man in his late thirties or early forties stepped into the spotlight, earning a few quiet claps from the less reserved in the room, including myself. He had a silly grin on his face and his long black hair was pulled back under a fedora.

"Hello, friends! Welcome! I just want to let you know that what we're treating you to today is something you'll never forget. A young man who grew up in a life of poverty! A life in which nothing came easy…he battled the wind and the snow to rise up against his lot in life and become a blacksmith! Fancy that!"

A few of the guests chuckled. I chuckled. This bloke was actually charming in a strange, macho way.

"And finally, after making lots of weird things like pirate swords and scabbards. You know, frankly, he made lots of cra—"

"Jack!" Came a loud whisper from behind the stage. The small, full room chuckled again. But I was frozen. I knew that voice. But it couldn't be…

"Well, anyways, I'll let him explain. Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you William Turner!" He moved off of the stage and Will Turner, the man I had tried to stop thinking about for the past month, galloped into the spotlight, shielding his eyes.

"Uh, could we…could we maybe make the lights a little bit less nonexistent and try not to blind me?" He asked, grinning. A few of the back lights behind me went on, providing a little bit more light. And the spotlight on Will dimmed. "Thank so much."

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. This _would_ happen to me. I turned to look at my father, who sat happily, ready to pay attention to the artist. Little did Daddy know I was absolutely in love with the man standing up there. Little did he know, I had a mad night of making passionate love with the man standing up there.

I had to get away from the man standing up there.

Immediately, I looked down. Hopefully he couldn't see past that blinding spotlight. If he could, hopefully my ducking down would hide me. I couldn't have another encounter like the last one. It just wasn't fair, not to either of us. But as I looked down, my eyes caught the brochure I clutched in my manicured hand. "William Turner: Metallurgy and Art".

So Will was a blacksmith. That would account for those hands.

He held a small remote control of sorts in his hand and pointed it at the projector above our heads, and on flashed his first slide. Honestly, I could care less about his slide. All I could think about was how to duck out on this gig without my father getting suspicious.

Maybe a head ache? No, I had done that before. I threw a sideways glance at dad and saw that he was very interested. _Crap!_ That meant he wouldn't want to leave. And anyways, if I were to get up and leave, it would be incredibly obvious and the first person who would notice me would be Will.

Because that was just a small example of how life fucked with me on a regular basis.

So I sat and listened to him. God, he really was fascinating. And I wasn't just staring at him because I knew what he looked like under the adorable brown semi-formal suit he wore, but his work was dazzling. It was just as my father had said. He had gone from blacksmithing as a trade to blacksmithing as an art.

"Isn't this brilliant, love?"

I smiled beside me at my father who stared at me with wide, fascinated blue eyes. Poor Daddy didn't know the half of William Turner's brilliance. I was almost certain no one in the room knew half of his brilliance. Save me.

I scanned the audience. Everyone was rapt in attention, listening to Will ramble on in a most entertaining way about his art. I stopped on a young woman who was tall, sleek, and gorgeous. She stared with unadulterated desire at him as he rose his hand to point the remote at the projector, successfully changing the slide again.

"Oh, this is my favorite method by far. It's called the—"

Seriously, if she blinked at all in the last five minutes, it was in the split second I blinked my own eyes. I had an urge to throw one of the blunt objects in Will's presentation in her general direction. How dare she look at him like that?

But I had to divert my eyes. I looked down at the program in my hands, at the smiling face of the prize blacksmith of London city, and felt a pain in my chest where my heart ought to be.

I didn't have the right to be jealous. I lost that right when I left him in that bed that morning a month before. I lost that right when I broke his heart.

Where William Turner was concerned, I had no rights.

I pushed back the tears in my eyes and looked up, watching him steal the imaginations of his audience, dazzle them with his charm and good looks, and elicit interest with his intricate details on his works in the slideshow.

I shook my head awhile later when the lights flashed on and everyone exploded from their seats to give Will a round of applause. I grinned wildly, excited that he received such a welcoming reception from his peers, knowing this might be the thing that gets him started in the art world. I was happy for him.

But damn it, where did he go?

My eyes darted back and forth. He had disappeared from the stage after one bow to his fans. What the hell?

I rudely pushed past others trying to file out of the small, painted white wooden chairs they had set up in the studio, then hurried to the front. I brushed past the pretty girl who had been eyeing Will, trying to ignore the urge to hit her. She was granted a few looks here and there at him. He didn't belong to anybody. And he really was amazingly good-looking.

Well, maybe not to everyone. But he was certainly _my_ cup of tea. And evidently this lanky girl's as well. _Stupid_…

"Would you like some champagne, miss?"

I spun quickly, hitting the tray from the waiter's hand and causing the last glass of champagne to fly into the air. Almost as if in slow motion, the liquid spilled from the glass and splattered all over the front of the one and only Will Turner.

It was safe to say I thought my life had ended right there.

He scrambled awkwardly for the glass in mid air and caught it, his eyes wide. He let out a sigh, and set the glass on the tray of the grumbling waiter. After receiving a glare, the waiter knelt down with his towel and began wiping the floor.

My hands still hadn't left where I held them against my mouth. And I still hadn't breathed. My eyes lifted from the floor where the waiter continued to clean and I looked at the sopping wet man I had been dreaming of over the last few weeks.

The amusement I saw on his features as he wiped his face with another towel brought to him by a second waiter immediately disappeared as his own eyes rose. He stopped, his face deadpan.

"Elizabeth…"

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know he was behind me and he spoke and just…" My words died off. I was mortified. So much so that I found my throat had constricted and tears were beginning at the edges of my eyes.

Will peered around quickly. Thank God, only a few of the nearby guests noticed, but they went back to their appraisal of the artist's work not seconds after. He bent down and patted the waiter on the back. "Thanks Mike." The waiter grumbled again but looked up in confusion when Will went to me and took my arm, leading me away from the crowd.

_I don't want this. I don't want this. Run now, Lizzie!_

But I did want it. I wanted his fingers curled around my bicep as he gently guided me through the throngs of admirers. Champagne stained the front of his white shirt and I looked away from it in disgust. I could not believe I had done that.

I could have handled spilling champagne on the Queen of England, but not bloody Will Turner. God strike me down.

When I looked up again, I found myself in a smaller room with a drafting table, a couch, and a few cabinets in the corner. There was a sink as well, a plethora of paint stains along the side. The lighting was bad, only a tall lamp in the corner next to the sofa and the drafting table light.

I watched as he moved away from me into the corner, opening one of the cabinets and pulling his suit jacket off, he reached in and pulled down a clean dress shirt. He turned and regarded me only for a moment, before turning back and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from his pants and eventually from his upper half.

He tossed the soiled shirt to the couch and went to the sink.

I could do nothing but watch as he splashed his face free from the champagne, drying it with the lone towel hanging from the side of the sink. As he stood again, he checked his undershirt for any stain, and pulled on the new shirt.

If he wasn't going to say anything to me, if he wasn't going to look at me, why did he pull me back into this dank little room with him? To make me feel incredibly awkward and uncomfortable? Because it was working.

"Why did you come here?"

There he was. And here I was. And there it went.

"It was an accident…"

"I'm not talking about the champagne, Elizabeth. Why did you come to my exhibition?" He turned and met my eyes, leaning back against the couch, watching me steadily, as if searching for my true feelings. I put up my invisible shield, the one that was supposed to guard my emotions from others around me. I say _supposed_ to because it most definitely wasn't working now.

He knew he had me.

He was just waiting for the break.

"I wasn't talking about that either, Will. My being here is an accident. My father was invited by his colleagues and he in turn, invited me. So I came. To get away from…" My voice died out. _To get away from you_.

It figured that where I went to get away from him would lead me straight into his arms. I should have known this would happen! I inwardly cursed myself.

"You didn't know I was the artist on exhibition? Do you truly expect me to believe that, Elizabeth?" He looked behind him and grabbed a program, holding it up with a raised eyebrow. There he was, smiling back at me, his name in large print beneath it.

"I didn't get a program."

Once again, upon looking down at my hands, I found a brochure clutched there, champagne staining it brown. _Fuck. My. Life._

"I got this later, right as you were introduced—"

"Stop."

I did. Along with my heart. So there it was.

There was a part of me that, while I strove to be rid of this whole thing, wanted that reassurance that perhaps if we met again, he would ask me to lunch like he did last time. But it was done. I finished it.

And I shouldn't have.

"Did you come here to mock me?" He asked, his brow furrowed. I shook my head, trying to defend myself, but he continued. "No, I want to know the truth. Why else would you be here? You told me it was over."

_It is. _I shut my eyes. God, I didn't want it to be.

"Will, I'm different from the girls you're used to."

"I know," he said, stepping closer, a small smile on his face, despite his earlier tone with me.

"And I care about you enough to be honest with you." My eyes moved to meet his and I swallowed, preparing myself. I had no problem pouring my heart out to him in the taxi. Why was it so hard now?

He wasn't just a caring stranger anymore. No, he was so much more now. He was the man I loved, the man of whom I would be pouring my heart out _about_.

He waited, and I knew that it didn't matter how long I took to gather my thoughts, to gather the truth about what was inside of me. He would continue to wait.

The mere fact that he was upset about me showing up to his exhibit after telling him our relationship wasn't going to continue showed me that he _did_ feel something still. I knew he did. There was no perhaps, maybe, possibly. He did. Just as I did.

He was just more open to it than I was.

"Will, I don't know what I am doing anymore. It has been a month since that night, and I haven't gone a single day without thinking about you." I swallowed the lump in my throat again and continued, forcing myself to look him in the face. He deserved it. He deserved the truth.

"I—I don't know what…" I had to stop, because I felt a sob gathering. Oh God, I thought I had gotten rid of those that morning after. I had cried for hours and hours that day. It continued into the next day, and the day after that. It was a wonder I kept it from Daddy.

"What made you leave that morning?"

Why all the hard questions? Why couldn't he ask easier questions? Why?

I shook my head, taking deep breaths. I looked back to him, tears beginning to moisten my eyes. "Will, you don't understand." I waited for him to speak, but he didn't. He just watched. He was listening again. "I have never met anyone like you." I braced myself. The mushy stuff had to be said. He had to know. "You made me feel…so amazing that night. And I fell in love with you."

He pushed off of the couch, eyes wide. He obviously wasn't expecting that one. "If you fell in love with me, why did you leave?" He asked me in genuine confusion. He was right to be confused.

So was I.

"I left because I was frightened." He rolled his eyes, completely out of character for him. _You don't even _know_ him, Elizabeth! You don't know what's out of character for him!_ "No, wait! I was scared because I never had that sort of connection with anybody!" I went up to him and looked him straight in the eyes. "I don't know what to do with this."

"With what?" He asked me. I started seeing that softness seep back into him, the softness that had brought me to him in the first place.

_I love you_, I wanted to scream. But the words would not come, so I just shook my head again, trying to hold back the urge to bury myself in his chest again.

I felt his hands latch onto the side of my face. He lifted my face to look up at him, and I let the tears fall. "Shall I help you?" He asked softly, a small smile on his face.

"What?" But he just smiled reassuringly, so I nodded, even though I didn't know what the hell he meant. I trusted him. So much.

"I'll tell you what to do, Elizabeth. I'm going to ask you if you want to get a drink after this, and you just say 'yes'. Simple as that." I grinned widely, giggling through my unnecessary tears.

"Ok."

"Ok. So…Elizabeth, do you want to get a drink with me later tonight?" His eyes were hopeful, even though he knew I would agree to it. And it was this that pushed me into my answer most.

"I would love to."

He leant forward and kissed my cheek, bringing me in for a hug. It wasn't passionate or lustful. It was lovely, strong, and just what I needed. I hugged him back with everything in me, realizing that nothing had felt this good in such a long time.

Well…a month, to be exact.

I pulled back and smiled happily up at him. Yes, happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. I was so incredibly happy.

Will took my hand securely in his and wiped my tears and smudged eye makeup with the thumb of his other hand. "There. Good as new." With a last smile, he pulled me out into the main room again. On the way, we met the oddball friend. Jack, was it? He stopped and blinked.

God, I couldn't believe I hadn't recognized him the moment he hopped up on stage. He was the same macho bad-friend mix-sucky-drinks guy that came to _Mods_ with Will. I could have spared myself all of this, if I had recognized him and bolted right then.

But as I looked up at Will, I was glad I hadn't put the pieces together. He was holding my hand with a smile, and it felt good. It felt magnificent.

Jack raised his eyebrow. "Hey…I've seen you before."

I looked up at Will, raising an eyebrow. Really? Very interesting. Will shuffled uncomfortably. He obviously hadn't told his best friend about our night. "Uh, yeah Jack. You saw her at…well…"

"At _Mods_, yeah?! That one night when Will took those hits and coughed up a lung!" Jack laughed, making Will frown. "God, tha' wos funny."

As Will pulled me out further, making Jack watch us with a knowing smirk on his face, I smiled softly to myself. He was still holding my hand, in front of this room full of people. I looked to my left and found that tall, gorgeous girl turn. She grinned at Will, but the grin dropped from her face as soon as she spied my hand grasped firmly in his. She turned back to her friends, her shoulders slumped. _That's right._

"William!"

We both turned to find Jackson, Carlotta, and my father making their way towards us. I quickly pulled my hand out of Will's and stepped a bit away from him, smiling innocently. I saw Will look at me in confusion out of the corner of my eye.

Carlotta smirked at me from Jackson's arm. Thank God she was the only one who noticed.

"Hello, Mr. Dillinger! I'm so glad you could make it!" Will shook his hand heartily. Jackson pat him on the back, then turned to Carlotta and my father.

"William's father was an old family friend of mine, way back in my college years. I remember you when you were only this high!" Jackson lowered his hand to just below his knees, laughing and smacking Will on the back again. I thought back to the picture in Will's apartment of his father and him, standing and holding hands, looking at each other.

Jackson turned back to Carlotta and Daddy. "William, this is my colleague and best of friends, Weatherby Swann. And this is Carlotta." Carlotta shook Will's hand warmly, but Will paled slightly as he realized what Jackson had just said. Yes, Weatherby Swann. Yes, Will. My father.

"Uh…Oh. Mr. Swann, it's a pleasure, sir."

My father chuckled in his cute jolly way and shook Will's hand. "It is an honor, young man. Your work is magnificent."

_Hell yes, it is._

I fought to keep the ironic grin off of my face and folded my hands together behind my back. That's when Daddy turned and saw me. "Elizabeth! There you are! Where have you been?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but found myself cut off by my father. He pulled me to him and put an arm fondly around me. I kissed his cheek as he decided to introduce me. "William Turner, this is my daughter, Elizabeth!"

Will and I shared an amused look and I reached forward and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Turner."

Will grinned widely, his cute dimples showing. "Call me Will, won't you?"

As Jackson took Will away from my eyesight, most likely discussing Will's artwork, or maybe old times, I turned to my father who was eyeing me funny.

"What?" I shrugged.

"Must you flirt with every good-looking young man who comes around?" He winked at me. Well, at least he didn't know the truth. If he thought I was flirting with Will just because he was cute, let him.

"Sorry, Daddy."

"You'll be the death of me yet, my girl." He nudged my chin and I smiled cheekily, before pulling away from him and going to where the beverages were being proffered. I turned and found Carlotta at my side with a wide smirk.

"So…Elizabeth."

"Hm?" I raised my eyebrows innocently, taking a sip from some champagne.

"You can pull that innocent stuff with a man, girly, but not me." She boldly took the champagne from my hand and set it down on the table next to us, putting her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow. "Well? I saw you chummy with William Turner over there. Can't play it off."

Hm. I kind of liked Carlotta, I decided. She reminded me a bit of myself. Except I might have been a bit less…well, let's just say the inside of my skull had more sustenance.

"I've just…met him before, is all."

"I see."

There was a long pause with both of us peering about. I lifted my drink back to my lips, letting the champagne slide through my lips and against my tongue.

"So what's he like?"

I choked on my champagne, swallowing it quickly and turning to cough into a napkin, my eyes watering again. I looked back at her, the napkin still pressed to my lips. She just continued to stare at me.

"I don't know what you mean," I wheezed, still trying to regain my composure. Oh, I knew _exactly_ what she meant.

"Yes you do."

I looked around the room, seeing my father talking to Jackson and Will in the other corner. Will gestured to an avante-garde miniature statue of a woman in a flowing gown, seemingly explaining his train of thought or procedure.

My eyes flicked back to Carlotta. "He is fantastic."

She laughed and threw her head back. From then on, a bond was formed.

The three gentlemen joined us again a few minutes later. People were filtering out of the studio slowly but surely. The show was over and there was nothing left for them. I clandestinely flipped open my cell in my purse to see the time. 10:30…not bad.

"Well, I think I will be going. Elizabeth…joining your ol' dad?" I felt bad, because I was about to dash his hopes.

"Actually, Mr. Swann, I was hoping I might steal your daughter for a drink." I looked at Will with wide eyes. Was he seriously taking some initiative right now?

Daddy turned and smiled. "Well, Mr. Turner. _I_ couldn't say no." They both turned to me. Jackson and Carlotta looked on, Carlotta hiding a grin behind her hand and Jackson just plain interested.

"I—I would love to have a drink with you, Mr. Turner."

"Wonderful."

"Well, I think I shall be off then," said father. He came up to me and kissed my cheek, winking at me as he pulled away. As he left with Jackson and Carlotta after our own goodbyes, I realized Daddy might know more than I had thought at first.

That small amused look in his features told me something. I wasn't quite so sneaky as I thought.

Will turned to me and suddenly seemed rather bashful. "Listen, we've got people taking care of this. And I talked to Jack. He'll make sure everything gets put away alright. And he's making sure the clean up crew is careful and whatnot."

"Shall we go, then?"

"Yeah." He took my shoulder and guided me out after the last of the guests. He thanked them as they gave him their congratulations, then hurried me down behind the studio into a small alley where a nice small, black car was parked. "So this belongs to one of my friends, but he let me use it to bring some of the important things over today. Kinda made things easy for me, but yeah!"

We got in the car and talked all the way to the bar. Then we talked at the bar over some nice, light beers. Then we talked some more as he drove me home.

He pulled up outside of the Swann gate, then shut down the motor. "Well…"

"Mhm…"

We sat there in silence. But strangely enough, it wasn't awkward at all. I turned to him and we shared smiles. "Listen, Will. I just want to talk to you about this—well, this whole thing."

He just nodded, ready to listen _again_.

"I am sorry for what I put us _both_ through. It was just…I thought I was doing what was best for you, especially. I didn't want you getting tied to a girl like me." I giggled bitterly and shook my head. "As I'm sure you know, I don't…stay with one guy for long."

"There's no nice way for me to answer that, Elizabeth." I laughed.

"No, no there isn't. I was so afraid that maybe I had finally found someone I _could_ stay with. I didn't…know…how to deal with that. I don't know why." I shrugged.

"I know. You know, and while I felt bad for it, I understand why you did all this. As long as we can have another go now." He paused. When I didn't answer, he swallowed. "Can we—have another go?"

I smiled fondly and took his hand from where it sat on the steering wheel. "Yes. Yes, we can definitely have another go. I want to."

"Good." He looked very relieved and it was sort of sweet.

"Well, I should go in." We both looked at the car clock. It was after one. Daddy obviously wouldn't be worried. I was twenty-four years old after all. But, I was rather tired. The whole day was…well, ridiculously action packed.

"You want me to walk you in there?" He peered out of my window. "The walkway looks kind of dark and…long and daunting and such." Indeed, the dirt road that led up to our front road was about 100 yards from the gate to the front door.

"Oh, no. I've done it countless times before. Don't you move." I smiled again. "Thanks, Will. I had…such a great time just—just talking with you."

"I had a great time too."

I shrugged, then leaned in, my hand on his cheek. Our lips met very softly, very warmly, then he pulled away, much to my reluctance. He gave me an apologetic smile. "I just…think maybe we should take things a bit slower now."

I nodded, most emphatically. "Yes, yes we should." I giggled, squeezed his hand, opening my door and getting out. I shut the door, ready to walk away, when I heard the window roll down.

"Wait, Elizabeth!" Oh, maybe he wanted another snog. I had no problem with that. I bent down and looked through the open window.

"Hm?"

"Just…just a question." He looked incredibly nervous, embarrassed and flustered.

"Shoot." I tried to smile reassuringly, but I wasn't sure how that panned out, for his nervousness was in no way relieved.

"Well, I was just wondering if you…" He paused. "Do you still go to _Mods_ at all?"

Oh, the dear sweet lovable absolutely fantastic man.

I met his eyes sincerely. "I haven't been back since."

He smiled genuinely, nodding as if it meant nothing to him, when I absolutely knew it meant everything to him. "Oh…ok. Just wondering." He laughed, then shrugged. "I'll call you?"

"Oh God! Yeah!" I threw him my cell number really quick. "Please do!"

"I will! Catch you soon?"

"Definitely."

I stood up and went into my gate, walking as calmly and smoothly as possible to the door. I knew he was the type of guy who would wait until I got right into my door before he peeled away. And sure enough, when I turned, I waved behind me and saw his hand pop out the window.

He drove away, leaving me inside of my home with perhaps the most rampantly fluttering heart I had in my entire life.

This…was the real thing.

A/N: It took a lot out of me to write this for you all. But I did it. Because I just couldn't finish without them together. I'm such a romantic.

Hope you all liked it!

Review.

I'm taking tallies to see if people think I should continue or not. Let me know!

boot-stealer


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